


Hold the Line

by Lizardbeth



Category: Babylon 5, Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gen, Minor Character Death, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 02:10:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardbeth/pseuds/Lizardbeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>J'frey fights Thread with unexpected consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold the Line

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Azar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azar/gifts).



> Happy Holidays!
> 
> This is a fusion, setting some familiar Babylon 5 characters into a Pern-type verse, while being neither B5 nor really Pern.
> 
> I had fun writing it -- I hope it's as much fun to read!

* * *

The call of Thread on Terra Hold was unexpected, out of pattern, and the Weyrleader had dispatched only J'frey's wing to deal with it, believing it was only a minor fall.

But as soon as Sinlairth came out of _between_ the horrifying truth was all too clear: it was massive, and heading right for Terra Hold.

Sinlairth sent to the queen for aid and then echoed J'frey's words to the other dragons, as J'frey called, "No Thread gets through! We hold fast, we fly fast and smart, and no Thread falls on Terra Hold today!"

The wing attacked.

But the Thread fell wrong, not clumping properly and J'frey heard the cries of men and dragons as Thread hit them.  * _Higher,*_ J'frey said, * _We have to hit it higher, it's dispersing like rain.*_

But the smaller dragons couldn't handle the altitude as well, tiring quickly, getting injured.  And then Leth was hit in the head and went _between_ , and didn't return. 

* _No! This can't be happening! We have to stop this!*_

* _Aranath!*_ Aranath's rider screamed as an errant clump hit him and they were gone.

It was a nightmare -- the wing was disintegrating right in front of him. Wounded riders and dragons, Thread everywhere.  They had to do something.  He couldn't let this happen.

* _We won't,*_ Sinlairth promised and went _between._

Sinlairth burned Thread, flying high above the others, turning on his long wings, darting _between_ to escape other clumps.  J'frey helped, fed him stone as needed, as they whirled through the sky, trying to grab the clumps in the cold, thin air before they dispersed in the unseasonably warm, moist air below.

A wild Thread hit his back, burning through his jacket with stinging pain, and they popped _between_ so J'frey could claw it off.  * _Ow, ow, get off, get off.*_

* _You are well?*_ Sinlairth asked.

* _Fine. Go back and higher. We have to burn it all.*_

It was almost as cold as _between_ at this altitude and the peaks above the Hold seemed far below, with the fields and the sea off to the south.  But above the Red Star gleamed, seemingly fixed in the sky, and the silvery Thread fall continued above.  It moved faster at altitude, but it clumped better, so Sinlairth chased the clumps and burned them, diving from height and then rising to meet them again. They blinked in and out, until he was numb with the cold but didn't even notice, as the attack went on and on.

They saw nothing else, lost in the battle, desperately flying to catch clumps, knowing that the rest of the wing below them was tiring even more than they were. 

And then, abruptly, a brilliant golden gleam was in front of them, and J'frey looked up, feeling dazed.  Sinlairth said, in a tone full of exhausted surprise, * _Mireth.  Mireth is here.*_

It was not their own queen from Terra Weyr; Mireth was of Babylon Weyr, and those were definitely the green eyes of the Babylon Weyrwoman.

"Fall is over, J'frey," Weyrwoman Delenn called to him. "Our wing is finishing it up.  Take your rest."

Suddenly he started to shiver, and exhaustion fell on him like a hammer.  * _Rest.*_ J'frey thought.  That sounded nice.  Sleep.  His back suddenly burned and he felt like he hadn't caught his breath in days.

He opened his mouth intending to call respect to her and thanks, but he started to shake, heart beating too rapidly and vertigo making him suddenly weak.

He heard Sinlairth say urgently, * _J'frey!  Mireth, he needs help.*_

He slumped against Sinlairth's neck, vaguely grateful for the straps that kept him from falling off, and all went black.

* * *

M'hal, blue Garibath's rider, waited, sitting at the lone table and drinking klah.  The weyr wasn't terribly comfortable with few furnishings, having been unoccupied for a dozen years, but it was one of the few open ones large enough for a bronze at Babylon Weyr.

Bronze Sinlairth dozed on the couch, curled protectively around J'frey who slept beside him.  They'd been here for two days.  Sinlairth had been only slightly hurt, but he had needed help from Mireth to land and then taken a full day to awaken.  His rider had yet to wake at all. 

Garibath had brought two sheep for Sinlairth and M'hal had butchered them for the tired dragon, when Sinlairth refused to leave his rider.  The blue seemed curiously impressed by Sinlairth, which M'hal didn't understand, though it did mean he was curious to meet J'frey.  The closest M'hal had ever come to him was a large Gather at Harper Hall, when he'd listened to J'frey's deep voice reading a poem at the urging of the masterharper.

Sinlairth opened one bright eye visible from the living chamber where M'hal sat.

* _He awakens,*_ Garibath told him, sleepily from their own weyr down below, passing on the word from Sinlairth.

M'hal stood up, took the cup from the table and approached the dragon slowly.  Sinlairth lifted his head out of the way so M'hal could squat down on the floor next to the edge of the raised couch.

J'frey had been hit by Thread on his back, a deep score that would no doubt scar, but Healer Franklin had said it shouldn't impact his mobility too much as long as he let it heal.

He was a tall man, leanly muscled as he curled up on his side in the furs. His dark hair was short, and silvering at the temples though he wasn't that much older than M'hal.  His eyes opened slowly, flickering at first as he roused. 

His eyes were pale brown, almost amber in color, and deep set giving him a thoughtful expression as he woke.  He frowned in tired confusion. "Who--?"

"M'hal, rider of blue Garibath," he introduced.  "You're at Babylon Weyr."

"What? Why?" he asked hoarsely, and then his eyes went blank, hearing Sinlairth. And he added, "Oh." Looking a little shocked.

Everyone was. Weyrwoman Delenn had been _furious,_ calling out Terra Weyrleader C'larc for incompetence and getting two dragons and their riders killed, and others badly injured by not coming to their aid in time.  She had Mireth order Sinlairth to Babylon to recover, not sending him back to Terra as was proper.

M'hal suspected she wanted J'frey and Sinlairth to join Babylon, as they were understrength in bronzes anyway, and Mireth was due to rise soon.  M'lari was a poor Weyrleader these days, pining more for the old days than he pined for fighting Thread, and it was no secret in the Weyr that she hoped someone else would become Weyrleader with the next mating flight.

M'hal smiled wryly. "She was in a temper."

"I can imagine," J'frey said.  He started to sit up and gasped, face paling with the pain.

"You got scored on the back," M'hal told him and noted J'frey's surprise. "Didn't you know?"

J'frey grit his teeth and answered, "I didn't think it was bad."

"Well, it is," M'hal answered. "Here, I have fellis for you."  He helped J'frey sit up a little ways, propped against Sinlairth's side, so he could drink it.  "You've been unconscious for two days. Healer Franklin was worried; he should come visit soon and check on you, but it looks like you escaped fever." Franklin had been most worried because he said that while flying at great height caused weakness and the Threadscore was a bad injury, it should not have been enough to account for two days of unconsciousness, ashen pallor, and occasional delirium without any fever.

"Thanks," J'frey murmured after he'd drained the cup, and handed it back to M'hal with shaking hands.  He turned his head a little, eyes unfocused, as he caressed Sinlairth's side. Then he looked at M'hal wryly. "I think I've convinced him I'm not going to die. He needs to eat and bathe." His nose wrinkled. "We both stink."

"You're going to have to wait on a bath, but I'm sure some of the weyrlings would love to help scrub Sinlairth." He looked at Sinlairth and promised, "I'll stay with him until the Healer comes.  He won't be left alone."

Sinlairth's  head tilted a little, regarding him, and then acceded.  He nudged J'frey with his snout, getting a pat and scratch of his eyeridges, and then used a forehand to help J'frey lie down in the furs again.  Then, Sinlairth wriggled off without dislodging his rider, and padded down the passage.  The great head turned back to look at his rider one last time, eyes still whirling yellow in worry, before launching himself from the ledge into the bowl.

J'frey was looking at him when M'hal turned back.  "You could get one of the lower caverns folk or weyrlings to sit with me," he suggested. "Seems a bit… much to have a rider here while I sleep."

"Did you not just hear me promise Sinlairth that I would stay?" M'hal asked, teasing lightly. But then he grew serious, "Mireth ordered it, to honor you and Sinlairth.   They say you two were flying around and going _between_ so quickly it was if there was a whole wing of bronzes in the air. You two saved Terra Hold."

J'frey's eyes closed, looking weary and sad. "Not everyone. So many lost…" he whispered, voice slurring as the fellis took hold. "Tried to save them all, but there was too much…"

His head dipped to the side as his hand went limp. M'hal pulled the fur-lined blanket up over his bare shoulder since he'd be much colder without Sinlairth's heat beside him. Then he moved away, back to the table, and kept watch, hoping this man would be his next Weyrleader, even if he wasn't exactly sure why.

* * *

The next day, Sinlairth was sunning himself on the ledge while J'frey made a halting trip to the table to fetch some more water.  It was unnerving how weak he felt: his legs trembled, threatening to collapse, and he had to lean on the chair. Feeling dizzy he sat to close his eyes and breathe.  He hurt again, too, as the numbweed wore off.

 _*J'frey? I will contact Mireth to have the Weyrwoman send help,*_ Sinlairth declared, * _She will -- oh.*_

But he didn't have time to wonder what Sinlairth was surprised about before a mild feminine voice spoke behind him, "You look better."

He opened his eyes to find Weyrwoman Delenn entering from the back passage.  He thought about standing but decided she was going to have to do without just now. "Weyrwoman.  Thank you for coming to help us."

She strode forward, moving with graceful steps despite her riding leathers. Her hair was long and brown, braided back, and her green eyes seemed penetrating as they examined him.  She gestured his thanks away. "I couldn't believe C'larc didn't send you backup, when Mireth told me your wing was fighting all alone, and there were already two deaths."

The reminder choked in his throat.  There were four - four of his wing - four dragons and four riders, all dead.  When he closed his eyes he could see it again.  Outside Sinlairth keened softly, * _We remember_.*

Her hand touched his. "Forgive me," she murmured, "they were terrible losses."

He swallowed back the grief and opened his eyes. "Which is why I should be in Terra Weyr right now," he said.  "You know this, I know this, so why did you have Sinlairth bring us here?"

"Because I wanted you here," she answered, which was no answer at all.

"Why?"

"Mireth will rise soon," she answered.  "Sinlairth is strong enough to fly her; and I believe you would be a good Weyrleader."

He lifted his brows. "You could declare the flight open. We'd enter that."

"I could, but I would prefer Sinlairth compete against our own flight, alone. Less risk of an even worse outcome."

* _I could outfly all of them, once I get my strength back,*_ Sinlairth boasted, still drowsy, but obviously listening to their conversation.

* _I'm sure you could.*_ he agreed affectionately. If he was honest with himself, he wanted to be Weyrleader, but he was a little uncomfortable with the idea that Delenn had chosen him. Out of all Wingleaders of all the Weyrs, he wasn't that special, he didn't think.  "Why me?"

She crossed her legs. "Babylon needs a true Weyrleader.  I've been watching all the bronze riders for a few years, trying to plan as best I can to change. M'lari is a decent enough man, but he was a much better wingleader."

"That may be true. And I'm flattered, but still…"

She smiled. "Did I make a mistake if you think so little of yourself?"

He took a sip of klah, discovering how difficult it was to lift a cup without moving any muscles of his back.  "I don't, Weyrwoman. I know I can do it. But forgive me, you seem very confident of someone you barely know." He knew there was more; she had a look on her face that suggested she might not tell him the real reason, but she had one. The strange thing was that he couldn't think of what it could possibly be, but his curiosity meant he was going to persist, even if he was only a wounded Wingleader in the wrong Weyr.

Her gaze drifted from him, speaking to Mireth, and then she nodded to herself. She looked at J'frey again and asked, "How many dragons died in the Thread attack?"

He frowned at her, swallowing hard with grief, and wondering why she would ask. "Four. Why?"

She told him, "No. Two."

He shook his head in denial. "What? No, there were four… I remember…" He could see it in his memory, clear as day… all four dragons were hit, all four died, and… and yet, she was right… when he thought about it, he remembered them at the end, too.  A sharp pain pierced between his temples.  

* _J'frey?*_ Sinlairth inquired anxiously. * _What is it?*_

 _"How many dragons died in the battle?"_ he asked. " _I remember four, but I also remember two, and I can't-- I don't understand_ …"   His head was hurting so much suddenly, and he was nauseous and dizzy.

" _Two,"_ Sinlairth confirmed.

He lifted his eyes to Delenn. "What--  what happened?  Why do I remember four?"

She smiled gently.  "Did you know that they say four bronzes were in the air over Terra Hold?"

"No. There weren't; there was us, and Zaranth.  They mistook browns."

She corrected him again.  "There were four.  But three of them were Sinlairth."

He stared at her, certain he was hearing things. Had he struck his head  at some point? Or was he having a strange reaction to fellis?  Maybe Delenn wasn't here at all, and he was slipping into madness.  "What?"

She explained, "Dragons have the ability to move _between_ time as well as speace, J'frey. It's a nearly lost ability, and one that, as you've found, is very dangerous, especially to the rider, but apparently in your desperation to save Terra Hold and your wing, you and Sinlairth rediscovered it. Four dragons and their riders died originally, but you saved Amaranth and Zeteth. They are now none the wiser in Terra Weyr.  You are the only one who remembers the way it used to be."

"Oh."  He couldn't understand it. They had _time-traveled?_ That seemed… ridiculous.

* _We needed to save them, and fight Thread_ ,* Sinlairth murmured from the ledge, not as confused or upset by this revelation as J'frey was. " _If I had known it would damage you, I wouldn't have done it. Mireth told me how foolish I was.*_ Sinlairth was chastened and worried.

* _I'm all right, Sinlairth. I don't regret it, not saving Terra Hold nor Amaranth and Zeteth. Even if we'd died, that's a cost I'd pay gladly.*_

 _*I would not,*_ Sinlairth refused. * _That is too dangerous. I know about the events we altered, but I don't feel it as you do. It harmed you, J'frey, when we doubled ourselves."_

Although he felt as if he was stretched too thin, he reassured Sinlairth, * _I'll be fine, Sinlairth. I just need more rest_.*

When she saw she had his attention again, Delenn said, "That is why I know you are meant to be a Weyrleader.  You did something not seen since the last Pass, because you were so afraid for the people under your protection."

"I … I had no idea what we were doing," he said, vaguely trying to object.  "Sinlairth did it."

"Sinlairth did it because you wanted it," she pointed out, which J'frey had to admit was probably true.  He had been the one desperate to save the others, and not let any Thread fall on the Hold.

But he was still not sure what to think about all this. It seemed vaguely ridiculous-- _time-travel?_ \- but the dragons seemed to believe it.  And he did have those strange conflicting memories in his head which made him feel sick.  "No wonder I feel awful," he muttered and leaned his head on his hands, rubbing his forehead which was still throbbing.

"Take this," Delenn offered him a small cup with the distinctive fellis aroma.  "And go back to sleep. You look grey as a watch-wher suddenly."

He swallowed the fellis.

"So now you know," she told him. "Healer Franklin won't let you leave for a least a few more days. I suspect he would chase you down and drag you back if you tried to leave now -- but after that, it'll be your choice.  Will you stay?"

He was tempted to put off the decision and make her wait, but he knew his answer already.  "I will."

She smiled, relieved though not at all surprised. "Excellent. I'll speak with you again later, J'frey. Rest well; Babylon Weyr needs you healthy again."

* * *

 _the end..._


End file.
